Off the Grid
by cakeisnotpie
Summary: All Clint wanted was to go on a date with Bruce Banner, but a new villainous group has other plans. Off the grid and on the defensive, the two Avengers find themselves with time to deal with their growing feelings for each other. This series was originally published as separate stories; here it is complete with all chapters.
1. Chapter 1

_He was falling backwards, feeling astonishingly good, the kind of good that comes after a deep tissue massage, a week on a private beach in the Caribbean, and really great sex all rolled into one. Rising up from the bottom of a pool of bliss, he became aware of sensations against his bare skin - the rub of uniform material on his shoulder, the hardness of the quiver pressed into his stomach, the fletching of arrows brushing against his ear – as Clint pressed back into him, pushing his body into Bruce's._

"Hold on!" Clint shouted. "Doc. You with me? Damn it, can you hear me?"

_Clint was warm, and Bruce's arms slid around the archer's waist, hooking onto his belt as he burrowed his nose into Clint's neck, turning his face away from the arrows. He looked past Clint's ear, the smudges, the tendril of blood oozing down his temple. Relaxing, almost boneless with the strange euphoria, he caught quick glimpses of the others as they toppled over together. _

"Clint!" Natasha, gun in both hands, firing steady at a number of human-like robots, sharp retorts sounding through the din of the fight.

"Tony, we have a …" Steve, almost overwhelmed, pushed backwards by the Doombot, a steady stream of pulse beams pounding around him.

Thor, hammer spinning back towards him, running for the access door ahead of more robots.

All disappeared as Bruce tilted backwards, eyes towards the sky.

_A distorted memory, a flash of blue, the Hulk drowning in the flood of warmth. Then Clint shifted his arms, aiming, and Bruce could feel Clint's muscles tensing beneath his fingers. He felt the recoil of the string as Clint let the grappling hook fly. The air cooled his skin as they plummeted down, gaining speed._

"Tighten up," Clint said, turning his head to be heard. "Line's coming to an …"

Bruce felt the jerk as the line unspoiled to a stop; the abrupt motion broke through his ennui, waking him. Clint used the glass of the building to change the trajectory, pushing off and sending them across the street, cutting the line and letting the laws of physics spin them around, aiming for the penthouse balcony. With a bone-rattling thud, the two men came down onto the cool tile, skidding to a halt, Bruce's weight crushing down on Clint.

"Ouch." Clint complained. "Well, shit, I just grew skin back on my elbows."

Bruce rolled to the side and lay still for a moment. "What the hell just happened? Something hit the other guy. It felt . . . good?" He rubbed his head, trying to clear his thoughts before he pushed himself upright. "Did you just jump off a building again?"

"In my defense, you were falling first," Clint argued, stifling a groan as he tried to move.

"Damn it, Clint, you should have let me be on the bottom. You know I can take it."

A smile quirked around Clint's lips and one corner lifted into a lopsided smile as his eyes lit up. "Well, if you insist, I've got no problem being on top." He rolled up, one vertebrae at a time.

Bruce blushed and stammered. "I didn't mean, it's just that … hell, you know what I meant."

Wincing and favoring his left side, Clint leaned over and brushed back a random lock of Bruce's hair. "Top, bottom, maybe we ought to just start with dinner and a movie first?"

Bruce looked at Clint. "Are you asking me out? Now?"

"Seems anti-climactic after rolling on concrete, I know, but, hey, I get credit for the element of surprise, right?" He ran his thumb down Bruce's face; voices babbled out of the comm, demanding answers.

"I read you. We're alive and mobile." Clint rolled his eyes at Bruce. "No, he doesn't know what it was." This time, his face turned serious. "Where? East side? We're on it. Look, bitch at me for it when we get back, okay. We're fine. We'll handle it."

Bruce was already climbing to his feet, and he held out his hand to help Clint up. "Where to?"

"Some of the robots got past them and are headed to the street. Cap wants the big guy down there, out of the range of whatever that beam was. I'm heading back up to that side building for a better vantage point." Despite his best efforts to hide it, Clint was limping when he got to his feet. At the thought of Clint's injuries, Bruce felt the familiar anger burn away the last of the weapon's effects.

"How are you going to get up there? Power's down on the whole block."

Clint shrugged. "Stairs work. Won't be the first time."

Bruce began to change, reaching out to circle Clint's waist again, arm gentle even as the Hulk's voice growled near his ear. "Cupid needs a lift." With a lurch, they shot upward. Depositing Clint, he turned to jump down to the street, then paused. "Hulk like spaghetti. And garlic bread. Lots of garlic bread. Fancy dessert that tastes like coffee." With a toothy grin, the big guy jumped off the roof and was gone. Clint let himself smile as he pulled back the string and notched an arrow, already sighting a target.


	2. Chapter 2

Clint should have known that it wouldn't be easy. After all, both he and Bruce were part of "Earth's mightiest heroes" or whatever nonsensical name the media was calling them today. Planning in advance, buying tickets to the revival of Gilbert and Sullivan's _Pirates of Penzance_ (which Clint loved beyond distraction because, honestly, he wanted to be a pirate king when he grew up) was just tempting fate. And sure enough, the call came that afternoon. Clint was wheels up in less than forty minutes, heading to central Asia on a fact-finding mission with Natasha (read: decide whether to blow it up or not), leaving the tickets on his dresser and the reservation cancelled. He came back on a stretcher, nothing major, just some cuts and bruises that the doctors insisted were much worse, forcing him to stay off his feet for two days. First thing he did after that was to demand Tony get HD satellite in the medical rooms. At least Bruce brought him take-out food rather than the tasteless lumps that came on those school cafeteria trays, and he used his Flynn Rider smolder to force Bruce to watch _Kung Fu Hustle_.

Next, he hit the half-price ticket booth, scoring decent same day seats for the revival of _An Ideal Husband_. But H.Y.D.R.A. decided to steal a prototype serum from a lab in D. C., kidnapping the scientists in charge of the program, and Clint traded his dress pants in for his uniform on the helio-copter. Bruce lost Clint's favorite purple shirt when he changed, and the big guy left with the retrieval team, gone for hours chasing down the missing people. Clint was asleep, head tilted back against the wall of the copter, when Bruce finally boarded and stretched out beside him for the ride home. Debriefing took longer than the actual fight and made Clint wish he could put an arrow in each damn stack of paperwork a dozen times over.

Every time he tried to make plans, things went awry. Bruce got caught up in the lab, working on a countermeasure for one of Doom's new weapons. Clint ended up in Malaysia, tracking some covert Skrull look-a-likes. They simply couldn't catch a break. So Clint decided to quit trying and just take the chance when it arose – and not long after he got back he found himself with nothing to do while Bruce was in the lab. Sauntering in, Clint propped a foot up on a stool and waited, drumming his fingers to the song playing in his head.

"_Ballroom Blitz_?" Bruce asked, lifting his head and taking off his glasses. Clint shot him a cocky grin.

"You up for some Italian food? I know this little taverna, a mom & pop place that makes great mushroom risotto and the spaghetti is to die for. It's not far." He made the question light and quick, no pressure, even though it did matter … a lot.

"I could take a break." Bruce stretched, rolling his shoulders. "Give me a minute to change …"

"Nah, it's not that kind of place. I go in there in sweats sometimes. Vinyl booths with plastic checkered tablecloths. You'll be fine." Clint waved his hand. "Besides, the longer we take to get out of here, the more likely we'll get one of those calls."

It was close enough to walk, just a few blocks, tucked in a tiny corner of an old department store building, tall ceilings with tin tiles and weathered wooden booths. Clint was glad to see that he'd timed things right, a little early for the dinner rush; one of booths was open. Alberto's youngest daughter, Chrissy, was on hostess duties, and her little boy, Giovanni, was coloring, swinging his feet off the edge of the chair she'd pulled to the hostess stand.

"Come here often?" Bruce asked as they slid into the booth, taking a laminated menu from the holder on the table.

"We have got to work on your pick-up lines," Clint laughed, relaxed for the first time in days. "When I first moved here, I rented a place over their old location. Maggie, the mother of the brood and the best cook ever, makes me take out if she sees us on TV. She'll have it waiting just in case I drop by." Clint snagged the first piece of garlic bread from the basket as soon as it arrived at the table.

The front door opened,and three young men entered.

"Where is my son?" growled the dark-haired one on the left. "Damn bitch. Can't keep me away from my boy, you hear?" He stepped closer, menacing Chrissy where she cowered behind the small podium, tucking the little boy behind her. A gun appeared in the man's hand, waving just in front of her face, and the diners ducked under their tables.

"Well, shit. My luck sucks these days," Clint muttered to Bruce. "This can't end well." And, damn it, he hadn't brought his bow or his gun, only a couple knives tucked away, what he considered the bare minimum of weaponry.

"No, Rick" she stammered. "I'll call the police. You're violating the order. You can't hurt him anymore." The little boy buried his head, trying to hide. For the first time, Clint noticed the bruises on the boy's arm, just under his shirt sleeve.

"Don't give a shit about no orders. He's mine. And you of all people know I can do what I want." He pointed the gun at her, but she held firm despite her own fear, protecting her child.

The growl that sounded didn't come from any of the men; Bruce looked at Clint with green-tinged eyes, his hands griping the edge of the table.

"I've got this," Clint said, taking a second to slip a comforting hand over Bruce's. "Be ready if I need back up." Rising from his seat, he moved to the front of the restaurant, three sets of eyes focusing on him. "Now boys, this is no way to make friends and influence people. The Neanderthal act doesn't really work on women, so you might want to rethink your whole approach."

"Stay the fuck out of this," the second guy spoke.

"Umm, Teddy, I think I know …" the third guy started, but he clamped his mouth shut at a glare from the other two.

"This is not your problem, man." Teddy's gun was tucked in his waistband, reflected in the glass of the window behind them. Clint did a quick recon – three guns and at least two knives.

"Actually, it is. See, I'm on a first date, and I need to make a good impression." He gave them his best Natasha Romanoff smile-of-death. "And you guys are fucking that up."

"We're supposed to be scared of a fairy?" Teddy sneered. "You make me sick. What's the matter? Can't get it up for a woman? Or you just want to be ridden, you stupid …"

Clint lashed out quickly, knocking Teddy back into the third guy, sending both crashing into the entryway and half out onto the street. Spinning, he elbowed Rick in the face; Teddy barreled back, fist aimed for Clint's head. Dodging, Clint took Teddy's gun in one smooth motion as he cuffed him in the back of the head, hard, slamming his face down on the nearest table. Teddy slid to the floor, out of it, and the third guy ran, disappearing into the evening.

"Alright hero," Rick said. "You're not faster than a bullet. Sit your ass down. Now." He held his gun to Giovanni's temple, holding the struggling boy as he backed towards the door.

To Rick's surprise, Clint begin laughing. "Dude. Wrong answer. Put down the gun or you are so seriously screwed."

"You are fucking crazy," Rick began, but his tirade was cut short by a roar as the Hulk smashed his way out of the booth, head against the ceiling and shoulders hunched over. Other diners scrambled out of the way, piling up against the walls or in the corners.

"Scumbag." Clint said. "Meet my date. Hulk. Meet scumbag."

"Put boy down. NOW." Hulk ordered. Eyes darted for a moment, looking for an avenue of escape then Rick dropped the boy and ran for it. Clint scooped up the crying child, rolling them out of the way as the big guy made short work of catching then smashing Rick a few times for good measure. Unfortunately, that also involved crashing through the glass storefront onto the street.

"Come to Nonna." Clint turned to find Maggie just behind him; Giovanni wiggled, reaching for his grandmother, and Clint gladly handed him over. "Well, I've been hoping you'd find a nice young woman and settle down." She looked at the Hulk as he unceremoniously dragged Rick over to dump him beside Teddy. "But you never do things the same way as others, eh? He eats well I imagine? Men should have good appetites."

"Maggie, I'm sorry about…"

She shook her head and narrowed her eyes. "You helped my family. Couldn't touch him, the policeman said, not until he violated the protection order. But now he knows if he messes with us, we have you and your young man who will take care of him." With a harrumph, she settled the boy firmly on one hip. Clint's eyebrow shot up at the thought of the Hulk as his 'young man.'

"Boy okay?" Hulk asked, squatting down to eye level. Giovanni peeked shyly up, tears streaked across his cheeks. "Need chocolate. Chocolate makes everything better." That got a tremulous smile from the boy.

"I like ice cream," Giovanni said in a whisper to Maggie. She laughed and the Hulk beamed at both of them.

"Chocolate ice cream," Hulk declared. Clint shook his head, amazed as always by the big guy.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXX

"A whole loaf of garlic bread?" Bruce asked as he ate the last of his order of ravioli from the take-out pan. He sat cross-legged on the floor in a t-shirt and sweats as they finished off the food Maggie had pressed into Clint's hands. She'd insisted they wait until the three big bags were full before they left the family behind to deal with the police.

"And a pan of baked ziti," Clint added as he rested his back against the Bruce's couch. "Plus a whole family size serving of tiramisu." He pulled a round aluminum pan with a white lid out of the last bag. "But Maggie put in a regular order for us to share." He popped off the lid and scooped up a bite, closing his eyes to enjoy the creamy goodness.

Bruce shook his head.

Clint eyed him skeptically. "Hey, I sedated him with good food. Besides, I'm learning that there's more to him than just smashing. He was, well, gentle with Giovanni tonight." He ate another bite. "There's a lot of you in him actually." He offered the pan to Bruce. "Want a taste?"

"Yes, I do." Leaning onto his arms, Bruce kissed Clint, tongue tasting his mouth, licking a smidgen of the dessert off Clint's lips as he pulled away. "That is good." He kissed him again, taking the pan and sitting it out of the way so he could close the distance between their bodies.

"Alright, I'll be Inga, then." Clint ran his hand down Bruce's jaw. "And what did you get from the transference?" Bruce looked confused. "Man, if we're going to do this thing, you have to watch _Young Frankenstein_. Classic Mel Brooks."

"Do you want to?" Bruce asked. "Do this?" Stroking his hand down Clint's arm, Bruce lingered on the bicep, finally capturing Clint's hand own where it rested on his thigh. Clint looked at their hands, Bruce's slimmer fingers intertwined with his muscular, callused ones.

"Oh, hell, yes," Clint breathed. "We are so doing this."

Bruce's other hand reached forward, caught the soft cotton of Clint's t-shirt, scrunching it up and pulling Clint upright, kissing him again, parting his lips, exploring with his tongue. Heat spiraled in Clint's gut; he dragged his hand through Bruce's hair and down his neck.

"I am sorry to interrupt, Dr. Banner, Agent Barton, but we have an incursion on level seven," Jarvis's said. The men broke apart, startled by the announcement, just as a distant vibration shook the floor.

"Aw, hell," Clint scrambled to his feet, offering Bruce a hand up. "Your lab."

Bruce cursed. "Fate's a real bitch lately and it's pissing me off."

Clint grinned on his way out the doorway, seeing the change already taking Bruce, eyes glittering green. "At least get out in the hallway first, big guy. Smashing the door means no privacy until it's fixed. And don't eat all the tiramisu before I get back." With a wink, he was down the hall and headed to the fight.


	3. Chapter 3

_Too many people. The mark rabbits, weaving in and out of the traffic flow, the Hulk smashing his way after him into increasingly narrower streets. Broken roof tiles slip, scrambling for purchase, taking aim on the run._

Clint became aware of the ache at the base of his skull, dull but persistent, the coolness of his hand, resting on the pillow above his head. His body hurt – left side, right elbow and both knees – but the hand on his hip was warm, and the silk felt good against his skin. Shifting his legs, he turned his head to get more comfortable, moving towards the heat of the body next to him.

_Guns. Lots of bullets, smoke clouding his vision of the street, obscuring targets. The roar and movement of the Hulk, men flying into walls. Screams below mixed with voices in his ear, Hill shouting for a status report. Damn it, big guy, hold up. It could be a …._

His eyes shot open. Hand? Skin? Body? His sleep befuddled brain spun slowly, no ready answers. Slashes of lights from behind the closed blinds. Large bed, end tables, sounds of the street below. Graphically erotic pictures, the black silk sheets, bars from the ceiling, and hooks in the wall. Damn it all to hell and back, he didn't have a hangover; he distinctly remembered the last drink he had was in Bruce's room just before all the shit went down with the robbery and the ensuing chase halfway across the world. To Kuala Lumpur. Splitting up to track down as much information as possible about this new threat. Cap and Natasha to Murmansk, Tony and Thor to the Falklands.

_Flashes of the city – shops, houses, streets laden with cars and trucks – a dizzying game of cat and mouse. Destruction in their wake, get out of populated areas. Tasha? Tony? A sudden silence, comms gone dead, keep moving._

What he didn't remember was why Bruce was lying next to him naked, sprawled on his stomach, face turned away, in what was obviously a brothel. Giving off enough warmth to heat the room. The silk sheet was tangled low on Clint's hips, but he'd thrown most of the covers off, too warm himself. He lifted up on his elbows and saw the scrapes and red patches covering his arms, the almost artistic purple bruise growing on his stomach; explosion of some kind then (and, yeah, he had lots of experience with being blown up … and falling … and getting shot).

_Stupid slow computer, come on, come on. Who is the café owner on the phone to? Got to get out. Can't leave the Hulk alone too long, too easy to find him. Keep low, act normal …._

Not remembering didn't stop him from getting a good long look at Bruce. Damn. He'd known the man was lean, but he didn't realize how taunt and trim he was, muscles like a runner. As far as Clint knew, Bruce avoided the gym like the plague, but somehow he was, well, the only word Clint could come up with was fine. And that did not begin to do justice to Bruce's ass, a curve that Clint's fingers itched to skate over a few times before …

Huffing out a breath, Clint stopped the line of thought. He was already in a pretty embarrassing state of arousal and thinking about what he'd like to do wasn't helpful. Not in the least. Entertaining. Hot. Pretty damn appealing. But not helpful.

_Running and shooting, just a step ahead of the pursuit. With no warning, a flash, a deafening crash, pain, spinning ass over heels into something hard, unyielding._

He rubbed the back of his head, feeling the lump; they'd gotten the jump on him somehow, like they knew his every move before he made it. He groaned quietly at the memory - god, hitting that wall had really hurt – and Bruce stirred beside him. Lifting his head, Bruce turned to squint at him, only half-awake.

"Clint?" He mumbled. "You okay?" His dark eyes cleared as he focused. "Headache? Nausea?" He lifted up on his elbows, dragging his hand across Clint's stomach as he pulled it back, and Clint sucked in a breath; do not look at how the muscles bunched across Bruce's back, he ordered himself. His brain, however, had ideas of its own and shutting down the images that popped up wasn't easy, but he managed it. What he couldn't change was the raging hard on currently tenting the sheet.

"Aches and some scrapes. A goose egg, but, thankfully, I have a hard head, so I'm okay."

A slow, sleepy smile spread across Bruce's face. "Well, good thing you have a, ahem, hard head." He gave a purposeful glance down Clint's body. Clint felt himself blush, blush damn it, like a horny teenager caught staring. Which was sort of how he felt, but with experience to add into the equation. A school boy crush with a porno mind.

"Yeah," he said, trying not to focus on the trail of fire that Bruce's hand had left, even if it felt really good. "Look, is there something I should apologize for? Last thing I remember clearly was being buried under a ton of cement blocks."

_Head down, green skin beneath his cheek, bouncing as they moved. The spray of salt water cool as his head exploded out of his ears. Shit. Throwing up, stomach cramping, blessed darkness._

"You mean you don't remember? Fireworks? Rockets? A thousand voice hallelujah chorus?" Bruce teased before he shook his head. "You couldn't walk much less do anything else. They were tracking the other guy somehow, but they haven't been able to find us since we went to ground. After you went down, I got us on a fishing trawler bound for Singapore and brought you here."

Clint tried to tug the sheet up, much to Bruce's amusement. The movement made his head thump mildly in time to his pulse, and his stomach stayed even and still, all good signs. "To a brothel?"

"Madame Mia's Massage Mecca, or something like that in translation. I worked in a free clinic not far from here for a few years, so I called in some favors. No one knows where we are. We're off the grid."

"Any contact from the others?"

"Communication is dead. Nothing since you sent that email."

Clint's unruly brain kept supplying random thoughts like how kissing Bruce from here would be easy. Just put a hand under his chin and tug him over. One of those sleepy, slow kisses, like a late Sunday morning in bed, with time to explore every inch, so much skin to taste. Especially that little hollow in the small of Bruce's back. Or, God help him, roll Bruce over and use his mouth to …

'You should probably quit thinking about it," Bruce said, voice husky and low. "Or, concussion or not, I'm going to lean over there and kiss you until you beg for more."

Clint cleared his throat. He didn't really give a damn about all the reasons why he shouldn't. Never been much of a rule guy anyway. Truth was, he wanted this and now was as good a time as ever, considering their crazy life. Threading his fingers into Bruce's hair, Clint pulled him down and sealed their lips together, claiming the moment with his mouth and tongue, saying everything without speaking. Bruce opened his mouth to Clint's exploration, agreeing in kind. Resting his weight on one elbow, and skimming his hand down Clint's chest lightly to avoid the bruises, Bruce stopped at the edge of the sheet, slipping his fingers under it. As his first touch, Clint ran his hand down Bruce's back to the curve of his ass; he sighed as his fingers curled around the taunt muscles.

"God," Clint said, "I've wanted to do that for a while. Been playing on the nightly things-I-want-to-do-to-Bruce extended feature."

"Yeah, I've got a few ideas of my own." Chuckling, Bruce caught the edge of the sheet and wound it around Clint's cock, pulling fabric snug against the hardness, eliciting a groan as the smooth material shifted and slid. With deliberate slowness, Bruce ran his thumb up the material, circling the sensitive head; Clint gasped from the touch of silk and fiery path of Bruce's finger. Bringing his mouth down, Bruce flicked his tongue across the straining head, closing his lips over and sliding down, wet material pulling tight as Clint lifted his hips. Bruce tormented Clint with his mouth, his tongue, and, damn, it was hotter than Clint had ever imagined it could be.

"Not going to last long," Clint mumbled, jerking as Bruce curled his hand around Clint's shaft and pulled him deep into his mouth. "God, that's …" His words cut short as he strained upward, thrusting as he came, moaning Bruce's name as the tremors rolled up his spine. "Damn." Definitely a good beginning, but even as Clint rode the wave, he knew he wanted more.

"I had lots of time to imagine while I undressed you and tucked you in bed." Bruce sat up and used the sheet to clean Clint before he pushed it down and off the bed. "Your head okay?"

"Mild headache. Not much else." Not that Clint was above lying to get to touch Bruce more, but he really did feel alright.

"Good." Bruce slid his knee between Clint's legs, planted his hands outside of Clint's shoulders, and hesitated just short of Clint's mouth. "You okay with this? I mean …"

"Don't." Clint's eyes grew serious. "You of all people should know that you never forget. You just learn to live again. To feel. And, damn it all, I want to feel you, Bruce." He deliberately stroked his hand down Bruce's side, over his hip, to make sure the message was clear.

"I can do that. Yeah. I want to do that." Bruce dipped his head and kissed Clint's neck, nipping at it the collarbone. Taking his time, he tasted Clint's skin in slow increments, brushing lightly with his fingers before following with his tongue. Clint explored with his hands, teasing Bruce's nipples until they were hard, laughing when Bruce's breathing hitched. He tormented Bruce, rubbing his thigh against Bruce's hard cock, biting Bruce's earlobe when the opportunity presented itself.

"Are you trying to drive me crazy?" Bruce finally asked, breathy and unsteady.

"Is it working?" Clint grinned. "You've been doing it to me for months now." Bruce's answer was to reach over and open the drawer of the nightstand; he drew a tube out then moved things around, looking for something. One benefit of the location, Clint supposed: supplies readily at hand.

"Um, it looks like there's one thing they don't have." Bruce raised an eyebrow in question. "It's up to you. The gamma rays mean I can't catch anything, so it's okay with me."

For once, the damn rules worked in his favor. "S.H.I.E.L.D. regs. Complete testing every three months. I had a full work up after . . ." he hesitated for a second before he continued, "… so I know I'm clean." He pulled Bruce to him, tangling their mouths together, more frantic now because he was ready. Biting down on Bruce's lip, he sucked it in to his mouth. "Been thinking about this too long," he mumbled as he worked his mouth around Bruce's jawline. "About you, in the practice room, pressed between me and the wall." He licked Bruce's earlobe. "Bent over the table in your lab, purple shirt still on, me buried inside of you." He trailed his tongue down the muscle of Bruce's neck. "You in that chair in the movie room. Me, straddling you." Bruce moaned, low in his throat, fumbling with the tube. "In the jet, in mid-air, flying with your mouth…"

"Be careful," Bruce interrupted as his slick hand slid between Clint's legs. "You might get what you wish for." He pressed a finger in, slowly invading Clint. "Personally," he rotated and slipped it back out, then in again as Clint's eyes drifted closed with a pleasured sigh, "I'm partial to the rooftop scenario, with the danger of fucking you right over the edge."

"God, Bruce" Clint said as the mental picture the words brought to mind almost wrecked him. Bruce added a second finger, stroking now, and Clint had to ask. "Will you wear a purple shirt?" He whimpered when Bruce brushed against his sensitive spot, spreading him further with an added third finger; Clint, wanting and desperate now, thrust up to meet the fingers that were filling him, pulling him apart,.

"Only if you wear your uniform." And wasn't that a hell of an image as Bruce took his fingers away. Clint whimpered at the sudden feeling of emptiness but then Bruce grabbed Clint's hips and positioned them. With a push, Bruce entered the tight passage, easing in; Clint breathed, relaxing as he felt the intrusion, and he buried his head in Bruce's shoulder, stifling his moans in the curve of Bruce's neck.

"Please, please, please …" Clint was muttering as he split apart. He needed this, to remember what it felt like to be with someone who cared; no, that wasn't right. If he was honest, what he wanted was to be with Bruce.

Seating himself all the way in, Bruce bent and whispered in Clint's ear. "See, I told you I'd make you beg." Clint laughed, muscles contracting around Bruce who gasped in return. Easing back out, Bruce moved, in and out, slowly at first, then gaining in rhythm, faster. Clint matched him thrust for thrust, lacing his fingers behind Bruce's head; heart racing, body already on fire, Clint almost sobbed when Bruce's slick hand circled his aching hard cock. Their bodies came together, and Bruce's thrusts grew stronger; a growl escaped Bruce's lips and he paused, cock just barely inside. Clint's eyes opened, and he saw the tint of green in Bruce's brown eyes, felt the shaking of Bruce's fingers on his hips.

"It's okay, big guy," he murmured. The tug to get Bruce's face down to his was gentle, but the kiss wasn't. Lifting his hips, Clint wrapped his legs around Bruce and pulled him back inside, the sensation of sudden completeness making his head spin. It was all too much for both of them; they rushed headlong together to the climax, Bruce coming with a final hard thrust, Clint a few seconds behind. They fell into an exhausted heap, spent.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"I consider myself pretty worldly, but I have no idea what some of those things are in there," Clint said as he exited the bathroom, towel in hand. Bruce sat on the edge of the bed, head in hands. "Bruce? Hey?" Kneeling on the floor, Clint put his hands on Bruce's knees.

"That's never happened before," Bruce said, not looking up.

"What? Earth shattering sex complete with a thousand voice hallelujah chorus?" Clint quipped. Bruce looked at him, worry on his face, but the corners of his mouth quirked up. If there was one thing Clint was good at, it was making Bruce smile. Well, that and hitting his target. And sex. Yeah, the sex had been good.

"The other guy. That's new." Bruce's eyes were serious. "I didn't get angry but he still was there. Never happened during sex before."

"Um, are you saying that I'm special? Well, yeah, I knew that." Clint said then he cupped Bruce's chin lightly. "Look, I take it as a compliment, doc. Besides, it was pretty damn hot." He wiggled his eyebrows to emphasize his words.

Bruce did smile then but it didn't completely reach his eyes. "You never cease to amaze me. You're making jokes about it, but he could hurt you, you know."

Clint stroked Bruce's face. "Nah, I don't believe that. The big guy likes me. Of course, to know for sure, we'd have to run tests to see what happens. Lots of tests. That's what sciencey types like to do, right? Experiment?" He brushed Bruce's hair back. "Let's see, there's a big shower in there, and I saw some silk rope in the drawer, but I think we'll start with you on the bottom." He pushed both of them back on the bed, capturing Bruce beneath him. Bruce started to laugh, but Clint's kisses made him moan instead.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

The café table was in the shadow of the next building; Clint slipped into the seat, dropping the paper beside the cup of tea Bruce had been sipping. He leaned back against the wall, surveying the area.

"Vladivostok," he said. "Tasha and Steve will be there in 48 hours. We just need to find a ship heading the right direction."

Bruce unfolded the paper and stopped as he saw the photo of Tony, lying amid rubble, armor battered and powered down. "Do you know if he's okay? Thor?" Clint rested a hand on Bruce's thigh, a calming weight.

"Nothing in the papers or on the news. They've dropped off the radar. Hell, we all have. Communications are still down, and so is the heliocarrier. Anything in the air, they can track." Clint watched a local policeman move by on a bicycle. He didn't even look their way.

"I know someone at the docks, can call in a favor or two," Bruce shrugged when Clint patted his knee... well, more like stroked because Clint had found he liked touching Bruce. All the time.

"They've made a major mistake, whoever they are." Bruce looked askance at Clint's statement. "They think we're our technology, the names. They forgot that Cap is Steve Rogers, a veteran used to being behind enemy lines. That Nat and I have been doing undercover ops for years. That Bruce Banner lived off the grid and avoided determined military dragnets." He grinned. "They've underestimated us. We'll take 'em down, don't worry, doc. They'll never see us coming."


	4. Chapter 4

Stay calm, stay calm, stay calm …. Bruce could hear the rush of air as he breathed in, breathed out, counting his heartbeat which was racing far too fast; anger stirred behind his eyes, pressing out from the inside, threatening to rip open his chest. Nearby explosions rattled the windows of the small room. How had they found them so quickly? They'd left no trail out of Singapore, changing ships twice at small ports, slipping into Vladivostok late in the evening. They'd made their way separately to the supposed safe house. Within minutes of arriving, they were under attack by high-tech weapons. Natasha's ever-present paranoia and Steve's low-tech warning system gave them a head's up to grab their packs and scatter. And none of those thoughts were helping Bruce keep the other guy from going ballistic and giving away their current hiding place, not even two blocks away from the original location. The last thing they needed was a gamma green giant ripping through the wall and rushing headlong into the waiting arms of their pursuers.

"Bruce, you okay?" Steve asked quietly, hunkered down by the fireplace in the old study, hidden from the windows. The room was a good place to get lost; bookshelves ringed most of the walls, along with desks and chairs, piled with more books and magazines, offering cover. The office's owner really should have been on that television show about hoarders that Tony loved to watch.

Natasha shifted slightly, almost unnoticeable, but Bruce caught it and knew she still remembered the time on the Heliocarrier, knew that she still worried about the Hulk's rage. His stress level grew even more. Head down, eyes squeezed shut, he felt Clint's hand when he laid it upon his shoulder, a solid, calming touch. The sound of pursuit – and the random firing to flush them out – was a constant irritation.

"If we lay low, we may be able to wait them out," Steve said. "We can split up and meet at the contact site when they pass on."

Unfazed by the others in the room, Clint squeezed Bruce's shoulder and ran his hand down the arm until he could tangle their fingers together; Bruce didn't miss how Clint grimaced slightly when the grip got too tight for comfort, but the feel of Clint's callouses and the steady hold let him take some control back. Slipping his other hand around Clint's upper arm, he let his fingers make gentle circles on the rock hard bicep, soothing the other guy with the feel of Clint's skin. Steve noticed, but studiously ignored the touching, while Natasha gave Bruce a smile just as a close blast rocked the wall, spilling books off their perches around the room.

"Hulk doesn't like loud noises." He knew his eyes had gone green, and Bruce's muscles strained against his shirt, shaking from trying to hold on. "I … can't … stop it," he gasped between gritted teeth. "Everyone should … get out." There was little time left; the Hulk rose up, filling his skin to bursting, muscling his way out and into action, anger mingled with worry and fear.

Then Clint did what Clint always did; react with his instincts, not stopping to think of the repercussions. He pivoted to face Bruce and kissed him. Hard. Surprised by the unexpected move, Bruce bumped back into the desk, near a stack of magazines that threatened to slide down on both of them. Clint's mouth was like fire on his, burning its way through the haze of anger, providing an outlet for all the rage. It was the equivalent of smacking the Hulk on the head with a hammer and the kiss got his attention. Bruce grabbed onto the lifeline Clint offered and turned his energy to ravishing the open mouth with his tongue, grinding their lips together, desperate to drown in the sensation rather than the rage. Taking hold of Clint's shoulders, Bruce shoved his back to the wall into a small alcove between a series of shelves, hard enough to rattle the books, kiss growing rougher as Clint groaned out loud.

"Quiver," Clint managed to get out, and Bruce gave him room to remove it and toss it to the floor. Then Clint pulled their hips together, rubbing his already hard cock roughly against Bruce through the fabric of their pants, and Bruce lost what little restraint he had. The windows rattled from another blast as Bruce sank into Clint, molding their bodies together, taking what he needed from Clint's lips and mouth, roving over Clint's hard body with his hands. In a heated rush, he sucked on Clint's skin as he tore at his own clothes, tossing off his button-up shirt and yanking at his belt. The feel of Clint, his taste, anchored him and he held on, forcing the anger into passion.

"Cap? Natasha?" Bruce ground out.

"Next room," Clint mumbled, yanking Bruce's hair to tilt his head back, attacking the line of his neck with his mouth. "Didn't want to see the show, I guess." Bruce gasped as Clint bit him hard, rocking his hips into Bruce's; a jolt of pure lust shot up his spine, and he growled in response, hand palming Clint's cock in return. He stroked the sensitive head through the fabric as Clint's guttural moans poured hot against his skin, rolled into his gut and added to the need boiling there. The anger drove him faster, and then the pleasure lulled the rage, a rollercoaster of emotions.

"We don't have …" Bruce began, but stopped as the breath was knocked out of him; Clint took them down to the floor. Bruce's back took the brunt of both of their weights as Clint shoved magazines out of the way dragging his pack within reach, digging in a pocket. He waved the travel size tube.

"First aid kit. Never was a boy scout, but always prepared. Now," with a quick twist, he turned Bruce face down on the floor. "Keep calm, big guy. I've got this."

Bruce felt the cool gel on his back where Clint had shoved up his undershirt. Urgency drove them both, shedding clothes as quickly as possible until Clint was able to slide a finger through the gel and press into Bruce; Bruce pushed back, the rage in him demanding to ridden, invaded and sent over the edge. He felt Clint's heat as he leaned over to whisper in his ear, words that made Bruce's cock pulse.

"The big guy likes it hot and dirty? On his knees, spread open" Clint teased, adding a second finger and brushing against Bruce's prostate. Bruce buried his face in the carpet to muffle the shout that tore out of his throat. "Or is it you, Bruce, that likes to be fucked hard and fast?"

"Now, now, now," Bruce moaned, and Clint laughed low in his throat. In a moment, he was pushing into Bruce, slick and fast, all the way in one smooth thrust, not quite painful, but almost; Bruce felt Clint's cock stretching him, the friction splintering him into pieces, shattering the wall of fury. "More," he growled. And Clint gave him more, picking up the pace until both were sweating with the effort, engulfed in the feel of their bodies slamming together. It was Bruce's undoing when Clint's hand circled and stroked his straining shaft; Bruce came all over the carpet with a long groan of relief. He could feel when Clint came, the warmth washing over him as he struggled to breath, Clint burying his face into Bruce's neck.

"Damn," Clint muttered, shifting back onto his heels, pulling out of Bruce. Raising up and tugging his undershirt off, Bruce cleaned up and tossed it to Clint, dressing quickly. "Hell, that's a big yes to that experiment. Sex can sedate the Big Guy."

Clint grinned as he stood, but Bruce knew that both of them understood how easily things could have gone wrong, how inopportune the moment. That was one of things he loved about Clint; the cocky sense of humor in even the worst of situations. He paused and sank back on his knees, his own thoughts surprising him. He'd actually used the L word. After half-Hulk sex. During an attack. God help him, but it just might be true. And wasn't that unexpected.

"We have to go." Clint slung the quiver onto his back. "This may be the lull in the storm. You going to be okay, Doc?"

Bruce just nodded, still processing the revelation. He pulled himself up on the edge of the desk. Clint kissed him quickly before he checked the windows and headed to the door.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"So, you and Clint? In Singapore, I take it?" Steve asked casually. They were waiting in a small corpse of trees near the GPS coordinates for extraction. Natasha had only raised her eyebrows in amusement; Steve had avoided until now the, well, indiscretion, as Bruce was thinking of it. With Clint and Natasha scouting for danger, the two men were alone.

"Umm, yes?" Bruce answered uncertain of the reception.

"That means I win the pool. I get to soak Tony for some cash," Steve smiled. At Bruce's face, he added, "The flirting stage wasn't exactly subtle. Sorry."

"And you're okay with it?"

"We did have sex back then, you know. Look, war makes your feelings clearer. Less complex. When you could die tomorrow, all the worries about what people think don't seem to matter. Romance was rampant in the trenches." He looked straight at Bruce.

"We knew each other before all of this," Bruce admitted.

"Good. Better chance of success. That's my worry, really. What happens to the team if these sorts of relationships go South. But I know better than to deny them. That brings its own set of troubles." His eyes darkened a little.

"It doesn't bother you? That we're ..."

"Gay?" Steve laughed. "I'd be a hypocrite if I said yes, now wouldn't I?"

Bruce simply stared. "You're … Does Tony know?"

"Oh, heck no. And don't tell him. I'm enjoying watching him struggle with it. I'm pretty good at waiting for things. He'll figure it out." A rumble sounded as clouds gathered quickly, a vortex swirling in the sky. "How often is Tony Stark thrown off his game?" A crackle of thunder then light coalesced and a man appeared in the clearing. Even in khakis and a blue golf shirt, there was no disguising Thor. Clint swung down from one of the trees.

"Gotta go folks. Incoming. On jetpacks. Fucking jetpacks. Permission to shoot one down and keep it, Cap?" He fitted an arrow and scanned the sky.

"Denied, Hawkeye. We need to get out of here. I'll get Tony to make you a jetpack."

"I'll hold you to that promise when we get back to the Tower." They crossed to where Thor waiting, Tasha joining them.

"Good to see you all are well," Thor said. "I have come to bring you to safety."

As the storm swelled again, the sound of engines could clearly be heard.

"Where are we going?" Bruce asked.

"To Asgard, my friend. To Asgard!"

Sex, love, and interdimensional travel. Bruce's life sure had changed. As he stepped into the beam, Bruce felt the other guy rumble a child-like joy as they dematerialized.


	5. Chapter 5

This is part three of the _Off the Grid_ series of Hulkeye Drabbles

Part 1 "Off the Grid, or What the Hawk is Good at" (M)

Part 2 "Keep Calm and Kiss the Hawk" (M)

He leaned in the archway, watching Bruce putter around the room and look through Asgardian clothing options. Clint had already been through that process, settling for the ease of black leather pants and a black silk shirt that laced up. Very pirate king, and he looked pretty good in the outfit, even if he did say so himself. The whole setting was surreal; gold-gilt room with a huge bed, open air views of the city, all of it supersized. Tony swore the rooms were bug proof, no eavesdropping, but Clint could easily imagine perching on the roof just outside the balcony. Magic, Thor had said; science, Tony argued. Clint didn't care as long as no one could overhear them.

"Tony thinks that's how they're tracking us." Bruce seemed overwhelmed by the choices and kept moving them around on the bed. "We can rig up some personal dampeners, but the Einstein-Rosen Bridge will set off all their alarms when we use it. Steve thinks they can come up with a stealth plan to get us clear of the bridge quickly and back in touch with Fury and the others." Give Bruce a science problem, and he'd happily work until it was finished, as he and Tony had done all afternoon. But clothes? Clint smiled as Bruce tossed the various choices into piles.

"Of course, I'd pick the purple shirt, but that's just my personal fetish," he said. "And those brown pants would look good with it. Lacing them up takes a certain amount of skill; I'd be glad to help out on that account." He wiggled his eyebrows, the mellow feeling of his alcohol buzz making him half-aroused just watching the man move.

"Ties and laces?" Bruce laughed, pulling the shirt in question out of the pile. "They really dress like this?"

Clint moved into the room and picked up a silk sash. "Yep. Just spent a couple hours playing hobbit from Middle Earth at the cocktail hour. This is tame compared to what they had on, and I imagine dinner is even more formal." He wound the long length of red material a couple of times around his waist. "What do you think?"

"I think you should take those pants home with you. I like you in leather." Bruce openly eyed Clint's tightly encased ass. Pulling Bruce's hands down from his collar, Clint unbuttoned the shirt himself. Hands on Bruce's belt, Clint leaned in to kiss him.

"It is an effective, but alarming costume," he said, singing the line, sliding his hand up to Bruce's shoulders and slipping the shirt off his lean frame.

"Gilbert and Sullivan? You've been drinking, "Bruce stated, catching Clint's face and holding his chin in his hand.

"Cocktail party. Lovely Asgardian wine. Boring company." His hands stroked Bruce's chest. "I only had four … no, wait, I think there were five glasses." He pulled Bruce's hand away from his face and went back in. "Don't worry, I'm in the sweet spot. Drunk enough to shut off the filters for a while but not falling down. This would be a great time to spring any strange or unusual requests you might have, doc. I'm pretty sure I'd say yes. Of course, I'd probably say yes if I was sober too." Taking his time, he kissed Bruce's lips thoroughly before his tongue slipped inside to sample and taste. He decided to start wearing more silk; his shirt slithered between their skins, heating up as they created friction and tension.

Bruce gave a low chuckle. "Let's just blow the whole thing off and stay here in bed." Clint moaned into Bruce's mouth when hands clenched around his ass, rocking their hips together.

"Damn job or I would," he mumbled, wishing he didn't have a part in the little theater of the evening. "After. I promise. All night, any way you want."

Bruce broke the kiss to look at Clint. "Job? I thought this was just a welcoming party."

"Nothing, really. Just a little cheese for the mousetrap." Clint shrugged and kissed Bruce's neck, working his way up to the sensitive spot he'd discovered, the one that made Bruce groan when he licked it.

"Cheese?" Bruce pushed back on Clint's shoulders. "Who are you setting a trap for?" Understanding dawned. "Damn it, you're bait for him aren't you? He's here."

"House arrest of some sort. He's playing prince of the castle, all regret and remorse. Tony thinks he's involved in what's happening back home somehow, and he's probably right." Clint shrugged and feigned indifference. "So I'm going to get him to talk."

"They have no right to ask you to do that. Natasha can handle it."

"He knows she played him. He'll be on his guard with her, so she's going to be busy for the evening, leaving me alone." Clint stepped back from Bruce, sensing the anger building in the man. "Look, he won't be able to resist goading me, rubbing it in. He thinks he has one up on me, and his ego won't let it go."

Bruce clenched his fists, and Clint reached for him, hand outstretched to calm him down. In a quick move, Bruce caught his wrist and held him fast. "That's why you were drinking. He was there."

"I can handle it." Clint tamped down on his own emotions. Being in the same room as the son-of-a-bitch hadn't been easy, but he'd managed. The angry green of Bruce's eyes glared as he shoved Clint backwards, causing him to fall onto the bed, but then Bruce took a deep breath, calming himself.

"I know you can, but I don't have to like it." He straddled Clint and slipped the red silk off Clint's waist. He wound the material around one wrist then the other, twining Clint's hands together before he leaned up and tied the ends around the ornate metal corner post. "Now, what was that about saying yes to anything?"

Clint tensed at the feel of the bindings, and then forced himself to relax; Bruce had left plenty of play, enough to pull his elbows down or to rest them out to the sides, so he let the feel of Bruce's hard cock rubbing against his own, the heat spreading languidly throughout his body, lulling away any memories. "We have to go. Besides, you'll be there too. You know he'll want to needle you."

Bruce smiled at that, and Clint could see the shift from anger to passion in the brown eyes. "We'll just have to be quick then," he said, bending over to plant his lips on Clint's chest. "And I'll make sure you drink enough to find the sweet spot later." Taking Clint's nipple in his mouth, he sucked it through the fabric, teasing it with his tongue to hardness. Unlacing the leather pants, Bruce freed Clint's already slick cock, laughing at his own fumbling with the unfamiliar clothes. "Okay, maybe we'll just get you a pair of leather pants in New York. One with a zipper," he said as he untangled the laces. Moving off the bed, he shimmied out of the rest of his clothes before he climbed back on.

Wrapping his hand around the base, Bruce flicked his tongue over the head of Clint's erection, circling it lightly, licking off the pearly drops there. Clint moaned and pulled at the sash, frustrated by the forced inaction. Tongue glided down the sensitive vein, back up, followed by parted open lips sliding over, wetting and easily sucking him in, alternating between hard and soft pulls.

"Let me, I want …"Clint gasped, yanking now against his bonds, hips jerking in motion to the pressure. His hand continuing the motion, Bruce shifted, placing his knees on either side of Clint's head; Clint wasted no time taking Bruce deep into his mouth, pleasure sounding in his throat at the fullness of it. He felt Bruce's mouth back on him, mirroring the rhythm Clint was setting with a moan of his own. Closing his eyes tight, Clint thrust upward, grimacing as the wave washed through him, coming fast, Bruce swallowing around him. He gasped and sucked hard until Bruce pulled out, spilling all over his chest.

"For the record, quick blow jobs work pretty damn well too," Clint offered with a grin.

Bruce untied the silk before he rolled off the bed to clean up. Pulling his pants off the floor, he shook them out and stepped into them. Clint looked at the stains on his black shirt and started untying it.

"No leather pants?" Clint stuck his bottom lip out in an exaggerated pout to get a smile from Bruce.

"No give in leather," Bruce growled in return and changed from one second to the next. The Hulk filled the room, and thank the Asgardians for tall ceilings, bouncing on his heels, looking at Clint. "Purple shirt nice," the big guy suggested.

"Seriously? You'll give Loki a heart attack, and I'll get nothing from him if you go like that."

"Hulk there. Like parties. Plenty of food. Smash puny god if he bothers Cupid. All good."

"Right," Clint looked at the big green guy and knew he'd lost this argument. He'd never seen Bruce change so easily, and the Hulk seemed almost docile at the moment. "You have to let me talk to him, okay?"

"No touch." Hulk stared at Clint with brown eyes, Bruce's eyes. Clint blinked and could still see concern, and something else, on his face.

"You got it, big guy. No touch."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Ah, Hawk, I am glad to see that you are doing well," Loki said when he finally made his move, gliding up behind Clint in a position chosen specifically to make him uncomfortable. "I have many regrets, and you are one of them."

Like hell. Smarmy apologies? Like he was another toy the spoiled child had trashed. If this was the opening gambit, Loki was off his game

"I see they've put you on a leash." Clint sipped at his drink, casually watching the crowd and not turning. "Must be odd, being the one tied down for a change."

"My family is very forgiving." Loki came around to his side. "And I seem to remember you like being restrained." He stood in faked quiet companionship for a moment. "You look good in purple." He sounded surprised.

"Actually, the color's growing on me." Clint's eye was drawn by the flash of red silk that the big guy had insisted on using as a belt to look fancy, he'd said.

Following Clint's focus, Loki nodded towards the Hulk, who was currently engaged in a drinking game with Volstagg. "I see the doctor is angry this evening."

"Angry?" Clint laughed, aware of the eyes on them around the room: Tasha from her seat by Fandral, Steve casually talking to Sif, Tony and Thor eating together, and, of course, the Hulk's rumble of displeasure evident above the din of voices. "That's happy Hulk. You've met angry Hulk. I imagine you remember what he's like." He let himself show a wolfish smile at that image.

Casually, Loki laid a light hand on Clint's shoulder, one of his favorite places to leave bruises. "I have missed your humor, Clint." And, damn if that didn't sound vaguely sincere, or as much as Loki was capable of. It would have been more successful if Loki hadn't touched him first, of course.

"You should really deal with all that pent-up shit you've got floating around in there," Clint offered as a silence fell in the room. "And you should probably get your hand off of me. There's a no touching rule in effect this evening." The Hulk's growl was loud and clearly aimed their way. Loki only hesitated a second before he let his hand slide off Clint, acting as if it was his idea and not fear of the big green giant glaring at him. Looking back and forth between the two, he raised an eyebrow in question to Clint.

"He's a little jealous," Clint said, a satisfied smile on his face. "I kind of like it." And he winked boldly at Loki, walking away, leaving the would-be king sputtering in his wake. Bait dangled, trap set … it wouldn't be long before Loki walked right in.


	6. Chapter 6

Clint enjoyed watching happy Hulk, or at least less angry Hulk; caught up in a weight lifting competition with some of the Asgardian warriors, the Big Guy held a table laden with food and people high above his head to a raucous round of applause. Then he sat it down gently on the floor and proceeded to smash his mug into the hearth, the shattered pieces joining the growing pile of crockery. The evening, no make that early morning, was turning out to be much more entertaining than Clint had expected. Everyone was downright drunk, except for Steve who was exceedingly mellow, and successfully not dwelling on the fight upon their return home. Leaning back against a railing, feet propped on a table, Clint swirled the blue liquid in his glass, nursing it slowly as he surveyed the room.

"So, exactly how does sex work with the Big Green Guy? Inquiring minds want to know." Tony took the seat next to him, waving his half-empty glass, voice loud enough to be heard over the party din. The conversations stopped at their table and ears tuned in for the answer.

"Tony," Steve warned in his best Captain America voice, giving Stark a stern look from where he sat next to the very hot Lady Sif. Not that Clint had noticed, but, yeah, she was exceptional. He did have a soft spot for kickass women. Tony had already chatted her up earlier to a very frosty reception; her obvious interest in Steve had made for some very amusing moments that Clint took great pleasure in pointing out. And now Tony was getting payback; he ignored Steve and ploughed ahead.

"I mean, really, come on, Katniss. Kiss and tell." He leaned his elbows on the table and put his chin in his hands, a shit-eating grin across his face. Clint simply gave him an enigmatic smile and took a sip.

"Clint and the Bruce?" Thor's voice carried even further; Clint started to feel like a target in the crosshairs, which, of course, was what Tony wanted. He would not blush, damn it. "You are mates!" He swung a hand and caught Clint across the shoulders, thumping Clint's back, pushing him forward in his seat. "Good. This means I win the wager!"

"Sorry, but that would be me," Steve injected. "Singapore, six days ago. I called that date."

"Ah, well, ummm…" Clint hedged, glancing over to see if the Big Guy had heard. Last thing he needed with the Hulk getting in on the conversation because, truthfully, Clint had no idea what would come out of the Hulk's mouth. Or Bruce's either. Yeah, best if he handled this himself. This could get awkward pretty fast.

"Oh, god, Thor, is that what you said to Jane a few weeks ago? Called her your mate?" Natasha popped another piece of fruit into her mouth off the seemingly self-replenishing platters around them. "That would explain why she wasn't talking to you." For most of the evening, Fandral had cozied up to Tasha; no one had the heart to tell him that she was pretty much out of his league, and that her current boyfriend, the one they weren't supposed to know about, was probably a keeper. She'd actually glowed when she covertly exchanged coded texts with him.

"Is it not something I should say? I simply meant that I care for her and wish to be with her." Thor looked confused. "I do not understand the Midgardian language." He drained his cup and filled it up again from the ornate ewer on the table. Clint had long ago lost count of how many of those ewers they'd emptied. He only knew that he'd slowed down considerably while Tony and Thor … and the Hulk …. kept emptying them.

"Mate is a word we'd use for animals, like a lioness is the lion's mate." Natasha supplied. "We'd also used it for scientific descriptions or when sex is just for procreation."

"Well in Australia, they use it to mean friend," Clint added helpfully.

"She thought I was saying I only wish to have sex with her?" Now Thor seemed uncomfortable. "That is not what I meant. I do not understand. Why did she not say something?"

"The silent treatment is a classic female strategy," Tony said. "You can't get some of them to shut up about some things and then they won't talk about others. One of the many mysteries that is woman. And why we find them so fascinating."

"Better check the equipment, Tony," Clint laughed. "You just described yourself there. The mystery that is Tony Stark." He snorted as Tony glared at him.

"Tell her she's your girlfriend," Natasha offered. "That should smooth things over. And a really nice gift would help. A new gadget for her lab?" She winked at Clint, eyes sparkling with the fun of needling everyone.

"But she is not just a girl who is a friend." Thor thought about it while Tony drummed his fingers on the table, clearly unhappy about the turn of events.

"Look, if you love her, just tell her. That's the way to go. Be honest." Steve suggested. "Don't beat around the bush." At Thor's frown, he rephrased himself. "Don't assume she knows or will figure it out. Just tell her straight out." Clint watched Tony out of the corner of his eye; the arrogant slump of his shoulders never changed, but Stark's eyes were laser focused on Steve for a second.

"Besides, you'll get brownie points for saying it first," Clint added.

"Brownies? What do pixies have to do with it? Or do you mean those brown chocolate squares that are so good?" Thor asked.

Tony couldn't stand it any longer. He'd lost control and he knew it. "Hey, I was asking about the jolly green giant and Merida here. Did we forget that?" he protested.

"And you waited until the Hulk was busy to bring it up, didn't you?" Steve sat back in his chair and glared at Tony. "If you want to know about the team's sleeping arrangements, you should just ask."

"Girlfriend, love, those are both commitments though," Clint said to Thor, talking over Tony and Steve. "Means you're exclusive, having sex with her and nobody else. That's more permanent than Tony here who is, well, I'll be polite and say he plays the field." He grinned at Stark.

"Of course, you could call it dating," Steve said. "You know when you're interested in someone, maybe even attracted to them, and you decide to spend time together. Go to a movie, a nice dinner, take a picnic to the park, ride a rollercoaster. Get to know each other and decide if you want to be more than just friends." He glanced at the lounging Tony who was pouring more Asgardian liquor in his glass. "Not that I have any personal experience with dating, but that's what they did in my time."

"Dating. Yes, I like this word. I shall tell Jane I wish to take her to a park, maybe ride horses. She wishes to learn how."

"Horseback riding would be good. She'd like that. Just don't let her take Darcy with you." Natasha nodded as Fandral refilled her drink and Steve caught a roll from a passing tray. Tony pretended not to take note of Steve's comment; Steve winked at Clint across the table. Eyes widening, Clint took a quick sip to cover his surprise.

"And dating can also mean you're doing the horizontal mambo, if you both want to. And speaking of sex, _are_ you and the Hulk dating?" Tony asked sweetly at Clint. "Or are you friends with benefits? Hooking up? Fuck buddies?"

"No, to all of the above," Clint replied. Tony was going to have to work to get a rise out of Clint. And it was true. He was sleeping with Bruce, not the Hulk. Sort of. Well, it was complicated.

A wave of noise came from the other side of the room; the Hulk and Volstagg were both balancing women on their shoulders, Volstagg singing loudly. Thor shouted encouragement, standing and heading to oversee the festivities. Sif touched Steve's arm, turning his attention away for a few moments. Tony leaned back beside Clint, isolating them from the others.

"Not that it bothers me, mind you," Tony said in a quieter voice. "I just don't like being the last to know these things. Puts me in a bad position."

"Tony, I doubt there's a position you haven't mastered." Clint covered his glass when Tony offered to refill it. They sat in silence for a few moments.

"You're both different you know." Tony suddenly seemed sober. "He's more in control tonight. And I hear that there are ways to stop the change or make it work for you." Clint was startled, and he shot a glance at Tasha who only shrugged and turned back to her own conversation. "Sorry to have missed the show. I'd have stayed and watched. Next time, make sure you're near a camera in the Tower. We'll make a fortune selling the video." He smirked, the drunk Tony back. "I'll also stock up on garlic bread and tiramisu for you."

"Jarvis?" Clint put the pieces together, and the computer AI was the only plausible source of information. There really were no secrets among the Avengers.

"The system is flagged to notify me about any Hulk damage in the city. The window is already replaced, by the way. And I can't wait to try their manicotti. They said they'd be glad to deliver." Another roar of laughter; the Hulk now was holding Volstagg _and_ all the women aloft. "But if you think it's food and sex that's calming him, think again. The only new variable in Bruce's life recently is you. As much as I hate to admit it, you're good for him, and you damn well better not let it go to your head."

Clint thought about it for a few minutes. Tony had a point, but Clint would never tell him that because the man's ego was entirely too big for his iron suit already. From the Big Guy's almost appearance in Singapore to tonight's party, there just might be something to the theory. Scary as hell for him to think about; the part of him that failed at relationships started tying on running shoes, but another part of him sat quietly and pondered it all.

"And you're different too," Stark added. "You can pretend all you want that you were handling it, but you weren't. Trust me, I know a thing or two about fucked-up psyches. Alcohol works wonders, but I don't recommend it as a long-term solution." He clinked the ice in his now empty glass.

"Maybe you ought to find someone who can make a difference for you," Clint said quietly, treading lightly. Tony's only response was to pour another glass full and take a long drink, so he dropped the subject, pushing forward and getting ready to rise. "I'm done for. While you were doing science all afternoon, I was schmoozing at the endless cocktail party from hell. Time to hit the nest."

"You heading out? I think I'll join you. There's a lot to do tomorrow," Steve said, catching the movement. At Clint's nod, he stood as well and turned to make his good bye to Sif. Clint couldn't help himself.

"Art museums." He bent to speak in Tony's ear. "He likes art. Try a gallery opening or a special exhibit. Maybe more MOMA rather than Guggenheim." With that parting shot, he left Tony before he could reply and made his way over to where the Hulk was the center of a large circle of admirers. The Big Guy immediately noticed him and sat down the full bench he was hefting.

"Cupid want lift?" He asked. Clint shook his head, ignoring the curious stares of the Asgardians.

"No thanks, Big Guy. Just heading out. You stay and have fun."

Hulk's eye's narrowed. "Not alone."

"Cap's leaving too."

The Hulk nodded as Steve walked up. "Cap watch Cupid." He turned back as Thor balanced on top of a table that Volstagg was trying to lift.

"You need watching?" Steve raised an eyebrow at Clint as they headed out of the room, and Clint felt Loki's eyes on his back as he went.

"He is green, you know," Clint said, and the two men moved off together, quietly conversing.


	7. Chapter 7

The water was scalding hot and washed away the last thoughts of the clusterfuck that had been his day. He wasn't sure when things started to go off the rails. Between mom & dad snarking at each other (Steve needed to tell Tony to just shut the fuck up, and he hoped to be there when he did), the bastard Loki gnawing on his last nerve, and the total lack of plans within acceptable limits of loss, he might as well have fast-forwarded through the whole day. They were no closer to where they needed to be now than they were when he left the party last night;, instead, his temper was frayed and frustration all-too-near the surface.

Like everything else here, Asgardian showers were huge, probably for washing orgies or something like that, but the echoing size made Clint feel even more alienated. Just give him his damn bow and let him shoot something, for God's sake. Preferably one dark-haired twisted son of a bitch who would make harassment lawyers a million dollars if they could sue his ass. Steam or not, Clint was stewing in his funk, and the root was the maddening lack of information to work with; no matter how much mockery he endured, Loki was giving up very little, if there was anything to divulge at all. And wouldn't that be a fucking waste of his time if Loki wasn't involved.

He realized Bruce was there but didn't react, keeping his hands on the warmed tile of the wall, letting the water pour over his neck and shoulders. After a few breaths, he looked; Bruce stood in the doorway, waiting for some sign of Clint's mood. Their last words had been sharp ones; with Clint's nerves frazzled and ready to combust, Tony had mouthed off, as usual, and Bruce had tried to mediate. Clint knew afterwards he'd said the wrong thing, snapped at the wrong man. But he'd gone to sulk, and even that was interrupted by yet another useless verbal sparring match with Loki. He should say something now, but he couldn't bring himself to muster up enough energy to step out of the shower, much less engage in a discussion of feelings and apologies.

Instead, he simply pushed the ornate glass door open, an invitation without words, before he turned back into the liquid heat. His mind was on rewind, playing back the conversations, what he should have said, might have done, when he felt Bruce step in, hands moving up his back to settle on his shoulders and begin kneading the knots there. Without a word, Bruce dropped a light kiss to Clint's neck, keeping his touch gentle, and Clint sighed as he finally began to relax; Bruce traced up Clint's arms to cover their hands on the wall, interlacing fingers together as Bruce molded his body to Clint's. They stayed that way, back to front, Bruce's breath on Clint's cheek, until the water finally began to cool; Bruce dropped his hand and turned it off before it could get cold. When Bruce's warmth left, Clint made a small sound of complaint, and Bruce tugged him along, exiting the shower to find towels. The friction of the soft material against his drying skin helped calm his mind, and then became downright erotic as Bruce covered Clint's body with slow strokes, even tousling his hair and using a corner to carefully trace his face, catching the drops that escaped. Wrapping the towel around Clint's hips, Bruce tied it off before he dried himself, taking his time so Clint could follow the progress with his eyes, and, damn if Bruce didn't make sure to bend just the right ways to make Clint's mouth go dry and his cock start to swell.

Tossing the towel, Bruce backed Clint up against the counter; Clint waited for the kiss, but Bruce's lips dipped instead to taste behind his ear, licking the spot as his breath tickled Clint's skin. Circling downward, he repeated the motion, taking his time; each brush of lips was like a tiny jolt, small by themselves, but kindling for a slow burn in Clint's gut. Even when Bruce switched sides, Clint simply let his eyes drift shut and savored the feeling. He wanted to reach for Bruce, kiss him, but he didn't; he understood the need to take things slow, to line up the shot and eye the target. Just as Clint was sure he couldn't stand anymore of the delicious torment, Bruce stepped back and Clint's eyes opened, questioning. Bruce nodded with his head towards the door and moved away; Clint followed, intrigued and interested in finding out what Bruce had planned.

"Lay down," Bruce suggested, "we'll work out those kinks." Bruce's smile was seductive and promised more than just a massage, not that Clint would turn down some body work, but he certainly was primed and ready for other things. Dropping the towel around his waist, he lay down on his stomach on the clean one Bruce had spread on the bed; he laughed when Bruce picked up the wet cloth and took the time to hang it up. Relaxed and aroused at the same time, Clint could smell sandalwood as Bruce opened the lotion, rubbing it on his hands before he climbed up to straddle Clint with his knees. With a sigh, Clint shifted a little, enough to know that Bruce was hard too, his shaft sliding over Clint's skin; Clint liked it so much he shifted again, more obvious this time, and Bruce laid his hands lightly on Clint's shoulders. "We've got plenty of time," he told Clint. "No need to rush it."

His chuckle turned to a groan as Bruce found a knot and pressed his thumb where muscles met on Clint's shoulder; he followed down Clint's shoulder blade, working along and underneath, the places an archer would ache after a long battle, running his thumbs down the line of the spine to where the back curved. Clint hissed as he felt the muscles respond, unknotting and loosening after a moment. Tension drained out of his body, pulled by Bruce's hands as they slicked and slid over Clint's back, his shoulders, his arms; Clint found himself drifting away from consciousness, drumming his toes lightly on the bed. As the day's stress melted away, excitement replaced it, his hard cock starting to jump a little with each long stroke of Bruce's fingers, caught between the towel and his stomach. It was like moving further into the deep end of a pool and feeling the buoyancy of the water lift him, easily floating on top. At some point, Bruce's touch changed, from massage to sensual circles at the nape of Clint's neck buried in his hair, leaving a trail of heat as Bruce brushed his lips over the spot, then moved on to the next. Square by square, Bruce traveled over Clint's skin and Clint ached, needy now, but languid.

"Do you like it slow?" Bruce asked, leaning forward onto his hands.

"Slow's good," Clint answered as he wiggled his body under Bruce's. "But you could hurry up."

Bruce laughed then, teasing Clint with fingers trailing over his ass and down between the cheeks to lightly trace around the tight muscle there. "Hurry up and go slow? I can do that." Clint jumped a little as the cold gel touched his back, and Bruce ran his hand through it, drawing scientific symbols on Clint's skin. With ease, he pressed one finger in gradually, up to the knuckle, twisting as Clint groaned. All in, then lazily back out, making circles as he set a languid rhythm that Clint found maddening. Arching back, Clint's body lobbied for faster, but Bruce kept the same pace, occasionally holding his finger still while he kissed a random spot of skin. It was driving Clint crazy, building to a climax at a steady measure, and yet Bruce's touch was so soothing; the two seemingly opposite impulses somehow worked together to take him even higher.

"You like it fast and hard, Clint?" Bruce took his time inserting the second finger, and he set the same deliberate measure, this time stopping to make patterns with his tongue on Clint's neck, shoulders, and arms. Writhing to relieve the throbbing of his cock, Clint moaned at Bruce's words. "Sometimes, delayed gratification is more intense."

"God, I'm going to …" Clint bucked back, rising up on his knees, feeling his climax coming; Bruce clamped a hand around the shaft of Clint's cock, holding him back. Burrowing his head into the bed, Clint bit his lip hard as Bruce positioned himself and gradually pressed in, inching forward until his cock was completely seated inside of Clint's tightness.

"Delayed means you have to wait," Bruce murmured. He slipped slowly back out and Clint objected with a curse. With a groan of his own, Bruce sank in again and then again and again, pushing Clint to the edge, but not letting him fall over; just when Clint thought he'd explode, Bruce would pause and touch him with his mouth, his fingers, his tongue. The need for release was like a wave that was pulling every sensation into his gut and readying them to break over him; Clint drew in a sharp breath as Bruce's hand holding him released and stroked his engorged cock. With violence he'd never experienced before, Clint came, the wave cresting, and he almost blacked out from the rush of it, heady and erotic. He could feel every last slow thrust as Bruce finally allowed himself to finish while aftershocks trembled through Clint's body for a long time.

"And I don't think I'm moving for quite a while," Bruce said as he collapsed onto his back on the bed beside Clint. "Just going to stay right here. Until I catch my breath."

"Intense, my ass," Clint muttered, occasionally still shuddering. "I'm taking a day off tomorrow to recover."

"Sounds like a plan," Bruce concurred. "You tell Steve I fucked you senseless, and you need some time off." They both laughed at the thought of that conversation.

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Clint felt the bed shift as Bruce slid under the covers to curl up against his back and he half-opened his eyes. Bruce liked to spoon; that was one of the first things Clint had discovered about the doc. He also liked to touch; Clint would wake up with hands in the most unusual of spots. Now, sated and relaxed, he rolled onto his back, his favorite position because he could watch Bruce's face during the night.

"So we're officially dating now, I hear?" Bruce propped his head up on a hand and dropped the other arm across Clint's chest.

"Tony filled you in on the conversation, I take it?" Clint's eyes were little more than slits as he fought the urge to slip into sleep.

"The other guy has really good hearing. And Thor's voice does carry." Bruce managed a mellow smile. "Although fuck buddies does have a nice ring to it."

"I didn't think you remembered much from the Big Guy."

"Sometimes. Especially if he's not destroying things." Bruce thought about it. "When I don't fight the change as much, I can remember little things. Thor was balancing on a table at one point?"

"Lots of people were on those tables, not just Thor."

"And Loki touching you," Bruce mirrored Loki's touch on Clint's shoulder. "Then just rage and the strong need to smash his head like a melon. I cannot understand what he wants in all this; what he's getting out of it if he is involved."

"It's personal for him, this strange Cain and Abel thing he's got going with Thor."

"And an obsession for the ones that got away?" Bruce asked. Clint started to protest, but stopped as his memory replayed Loki's jabs and feints.

"Damn it, you're right. He's frustrated and humiliated by the loss." With a pause, he let the thought sink in. "Maybe we've been asking the wrong question. We know why Loki would be working with someone; get back to Earth, get back at Daddy and big brother, take away my toys. But why would these guys be working with Loki. What do they get out of it?" His voice trailed off as he let the idea sink into his subconscious.

"Don't worry about it," Bruce mumbled, half-asleep, laying his head on Clint's shoulder. "He couldn't win then, and they won't win now." His hand tightened on Clint's waist. "I smashed him once, I'll do it again."

And, with a savage little joy at Bruce's declaration, Clint faded into sleep.


	8. Chapter 8

Fear had a smell - sweat, rancid smoke, metallic tang of blood – and the Hulk knew it well, could track by it into any hole or hiding place. He knew the give of flesh when his fingers sank in and the fierce joy at the crack of bone. It was simple, really; the Hulk thrived in the middle of battle, the chaos fueling his rage.

"Hulk," Cap shouted. "Stop them!"

Weapon fire bounced off his skin, irritating little pings that didn't need attention. Jetpacks buzzed like flies to be swatted, and puny humans scurried around him. Any within his massive arm's reach were smacked aside as he plowed through the big gun, weapon, whatever it did, waited for him to smash it, powerful fists bursting the soldered metal seams, colored wires and shiny parts spewing out of the gashes. He scattered overheated pieces back in their faces before he swept more of them aside. Voices shouted in the tumult, but he ignored them, crashing through the outer wall, tearing into the building where there was more fighting to do.

It was no more than a tiny touch, and he didn't notice it, didn't even see the yellow-suited human who pushed the small dispenser into his thigh. As pings of bullets go, the pinch of the injection against his thick skin barely registered. Trampling the annoyance of the guns was more important and much more fun. Then the pins and needles started to crawl up his leg in fits and starts, leaving numbness behind; he shook his leg and growled, but didn't stop pounding the seemingly endless string of bad guys. Smash one and another took his place, an overwhelming line that pushed him backwards towards the bank of windows. Pain hit his abdomen and spread down his legs; sharp now, like a thousand bee stings at once. He roared and lashed out, upending a work table laden with more machinery that crashed with a satisfyingly loud boom. An arrow flew by him, taking out a man heading for the elevators with a case under his arm; Hulk turned his head as the pain flashed into knife-like sharpness, driving into his chest.

"Cupid…" he tried to shout, but his throat closed up, constricted and tight, unable to breath. Stumbling, he hit another table, microscopes flying and glass beakers shattering. He struggled forward as he saw the knife catch the light before it slashed across Clint's back, throwing him forward into a crowd of the enemy. Hawkeye's blood was red like the rage that covered the Hulk's vision, pushing back the effects of the injection long enough for him to hurl the table towards the knot of bodies. And still, he was unable to say anything, spasms in his throat blocking all sound.

Then they were on him, crawling up his legs, forcing him back another step, then another. Arms flailing, he slung them away as fast as he could, not caring what he destroyed as the inside of his head felt like it swelled to bursting. With a grunt, he tried to move forward, but the world spun; head light with hot waves of pain, he fell to his knees, suddenly weak. The anger that sustained him drained away with his strength, and he went down, boots holding down his shrinking arms and legs. Head on the floor, his last sight was Clint's closed eyes and a pool of blood on the floor.

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"I do so apologize for the men's treatment of you. I instructed them to be gracious. They shall be reprimanded."

Bruce struggled to bring the speaker into focus, shaking off the effects of the drug that was still in his system. The groggy feeling hung around his eyes, but he could see the beautiful black haired woman who sat at the small table.

"Monica?" he rasped out, confused. "Monica Rappacini?" Metal bands spanned his wrists, digital readouts blinking green; they were heavy to lift as he absently rubbed a hand through his hair. His arms and pant legs were spattered with red boot treads, even his chest, and he brushed at the dried stuff.

"Nice to see you again, Bruce, even if it's not the ideal situation." She tipped up the fine porcelain teapot, pouring a stream of steaming brown liquid into a cup. "Do you still take cream?"

"What the hell is going on?" Bruce demanded. His mind was clearing slowly, and memories were flooding back to him. Arriving back from Asgard alone, each of them on their own bridge punched through one after the other to different locations. The rendezvous point, meeting with Fury … all going according to plan until hell broke loose in New York at the Baxter Building. Rushing to get there in time to stop the theft of some important data.

"You didn't use to be so direct," she laughed as she offered him the cup. "I didn't think the parasite would change you so much."

He shook his head no, afraid that the cup held something more dangerous than tea. "The parasite?"

"The Hulk, whatever you call him. Don't worry; he's under control for the moment." She took a sip herself, blowing across the top to cool it slightly. "The injection was a neural inhibitor; we've had good success in the trials. Short-term only, unfortunately. Long-term use has some very nasty side effects. Victor Von Doom was on the right track after all, just had the wrong delivery system."

Bruce had a thousand questions rolling in his head, but he kept quiet, trying to piece everything together, dragging the memories of the other guy's last fight out of the shadows. The pain flashed into focus, some kind of aerosol pen, the memory making him rub his chest and throat.

"Bruce, we need you," Monica leaned forward in her seat, eyes empathic and understanding. "We can help you with your condition; we have the best facilities and scientists from around the world. And you can continue your work here without the distraction of the Hulk. Think of the good you can do, people you can save." He could hear the friend she'd been in her voice, reminding him of late nights talking about their dreams of cures for diseases and equal care for all. She'd been top in her field, creating antitoxins from natural sources, almost winning the Nobel Prize for her work. But then she'd disappeared.

"Who is _we_, Monica?" Bruce asked. "Who are you working for?"

"We're like-minded scientists, people who think technology should be available to all," she spoke, earnest and sincere, seeming to believe it herself. "A world without government barriers holding us back from helping each other."

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Bruce fought down the nausea as the memory slammed into him; Clint, on the floor, boots walking through his blood, making red footprints as they dragged Bruce away. "By stealing things, killing and hurting innocent people?" he demanded, feeling the familiar anger rise up and exulting in the knowledge that the other guy could, and would, break him out of here.

"Well, nothing is easy, you know." She sat back, and a coldness settled over her fine features. "What we need, we sometimes have to take. And those who try to stop us, well …" She shrugged elegantly, picking up the tea cup and sipping. "We have a world to save, Bruce. Not everyone agrees."

He reached then for the pool that rested just outside his consciousness, deliberately ready to unchain the beast, driven by the need to know what had happened, if Clint was … Rage boiled, but remained elusive, just out of reach. He tried again, and felt the Hulk slip further away, felt a lethargy spread up his arm and into his chest and shoulders.

"Sorry, dear, but the bracelets are programmed to administer another dose of the neuro-inhibitor if you start to get upset. I'd try not to stir yourself up, as I have no idea how much of the drug you can take before you have any adverse effects." She poured another cup of tea and left it sitting on the table as she rose. "You have some time to think about it. Work with us, Bruce. I don't want to think about what will happen if you say no."

On the edge of the cot, he breathed heavily, as she left, an ache like nothing he'd ever felt in his heart. Every time he shut his eyes, he saw the plunge of the knife, the closed eyes, and the limp hand. He scrubbed at the blood on his arms, Clint's blood, and, for the first time he could remember, he felt the absence of the Hulk keenly as he wondered what to do.


	9. Chapter 9

"Three days and we still know nothing!"

Tony wasn't normally the most patient of men, and he was even worse for wear because he had nothing else to do but snark at everyone around him. Cut off from the tower, his lab, and Jarvis, he was reduced to using an inexpensive laptop, leeching off free Wi-Fi from the coffee shop downstairs. Burn phones and re-routed emails aside, the low tech options were driving Tony crazy. He slammed the top closed on the computer and stalked over to the makeshift bar to pour himself another jigger of Scotch.

"We're doing the best that we can, Tony," Steve said from his seat on the couch. "Fury's working through channels, and we've got everyone looking for Bruce and Natasha." Nothing Steve said registered with Tony; the team was falling apart, there were too many missing pieces, and he was cooped up here, unable to do anything useful. With so many of them scattered to the winds, Tony's worry took the form of excessive pacing and complaining, all of which Steve managed to handle calmly. Ironically, two of them had ended up here, together, in the small apartment that Pepper had bought as part of a contingency plan for just such a situation. The cabinets were loaded with food, money and passports were stashed in a safe, and all the comforts of home were provided for, but the intimacy of the situation only added to Tony's frustrations.

"Well, our best isn't good enough, damn it." He tossed the alcohol back his throat and sat the glass down with a thump. Staring out the window to the New York street below, Tony rested his forearm on the cool pane, misted with the steady rain outside, the weather an echo of his mood. Steve stood and walked over to him, hesitating just when he was close enough that Tony could feel the warmth of his body. "I'm completely grounded and cut off here. How the hell are they tracking the suit? Damn it, I'm as good as useless."

Leaning in, Steve's voice sent his breath across Tony's ear, stirring his hair. "You are far from useless. Without you, we wouldn't have this place or money to pay the doctor or a way to contact Fury. That's important." For a second, their reflection in the foggy glass was more like lovers than friends, Steve's golden hair close to Tony's brown.

"That was Pepper. I'd give her a raise, but it would go to her head." Tony turned his distain upon himself, a target he was intimately familiar with. "I am useless without the suit and my tech."

"Genius, billionaire, philanthropist, playboy?" Steve teased, his easy smile evident in the glass.

"Well, yes, I am all those things, but …" Tony's mouth quirked up at the edges, and he started to turn.

"Any news?" Clint was barely upright, holding on to the doorframe, face pale, dark shadows under his eyes.

"You shouldn't be up yet," Steve practically ordered. "You'll rip out those stitches. At least sit down before you fall down." He helped Clint slowly settle onto the couch. "You need to be healing, so when we do find him, you can be mobile enough to help."

Clint offered Steve a ghost of a smile. "Never did say thanks for the emergency aid, Cap. The doctor said I wouldn't have made it without what you did."

As always, Steve shrugged off any praise or accolades. "Thank Natasha for getting that surgeon so fast. If we had gone to an ER, they'd have found us for sure."

Clint was in pain, but none of that mattered over his worry for Bruce. "Truth is, if the Big Guy hadn't warned me, I'd be dead." He remembered it clearly, the look on the Hulk's face as he'd turned, the pain mixed with warning. "Any word from Tasha?"

"Nothing. She rabbited as soon as you were in surgery." Tony's voice was hard. "At least Thor told us he was going back to Asgard to find out what Heimdall can see."

"She's got connections everywhere. If anyone on Earth can find him, she can." Clint would have sounded certain except for his thready voice; sweat beaded on his forehead. "It was some kind of injection. That's twice now someone's taken the Big Guy out of action. Doom had that fucking gun and now these guys have some sort of drug."

"Could they be connected?" Steve asked. Tony shrugged, but let the question roll in his mind, entering it as if it were a program to be run.

"We think Doom's gun had something to do with serotonin levels, boosting them for a euphoria that would negate the Hulk's anger. Gamma aminobutyric acid might be in play too; a shot of GABA is like a massive dose of Valium. We could probably isolate which could be injected and that fast acting. If I hack into the CDC database …" Tony opened the laptop, drumming his fingers on the desk as he waited for it to boot up.

"Can we track back the parts and components they'd need to make a serum that would affect him?" Clint sagged against the pillows, trying to get comfortable.

"For god's sake, at least lay down." Tony growled. "And take the damn pill for the pain." He stalked over to the television and turned it on, surfing through the channels until he found a cheesy sci-fi movie about shark attacks on the Jersey shore. "You're better company when you're hyped up on meds." Turning back to the screen, Tony smiled, happier now with a problem to solve and an alive-and-on-the-mend Clint to badger.

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Yet another technician was drawing blood, taking his vitals; the room had been a revolving door of doctors and nurses, faces a medicated blur. After exhausting himself trying to build up a rage, and a few more injections of the mystery drug that left him groggy and weak, Bruce had given up and tried to approach the situation like a science problem. Running hypothesis after hypothesis, the careful methodology kept him calm and gave his mind something to do besides obsess over things he didn't know. He'd arrived at a number of conclusions by logically attacking the information he had available, but he was still missing some key variables.

"You're calm today, Dr. Banner," the tech said, and Bruce looked up. She was wearing the standard white lab coat and yellow badge, but tattoos showed on her neck and forearms. A colorful rose wrapped around her wrist, and a celtic design scrolled down from her ear to disappear beneath her collar. Long, black hair was pulled neatly back from her face, and her dark brown eyes seemed kind. Right, Bruce thought, she was the nice one who took pains to not hurt him, and she liked to chat. His mind was clearer without the medicine in his system, he thought, as she checked his monitor bracelet. "That's good. You haven't used the inhibitor since late yesterday. I'll fill it up, just in case, but I hope you don't use it anymore. You're kind of cute, and, trust me, the dating scene around here is a wasteland. I'm hoping you're out of here soon so I can buy you a drink." She leaned close to him, opening the small port and dispensing the liquid in the needle quickly and efficiently into each bracelet; the other guy stirred faintly, taking in her scent.

"I'm afraid I'm not your type," Bruce said, not looking at her face for fear of giving his surging emotions away, thinking instead about keeping his breathing even and the monitors in the green.

"Well, damn. That's my luck, though," she laughed as she carefully packed up her tray and prepared to leave. "Probably got some boyfriend already, pining away for you, huh? Hope he knows how lucky he is. Guess I'm still flying solo for a while." Turning to go, he caught another tattoo on the back of her calf, peeking below her black skirt. He closed his eyes quickly, keeping his head down even after she left. His heart rate jumped; the hiss of the medicine dispersal sounded, but none of the numbness or pain followed as the seconds ticked by. With effort, he brought his vitals back to normal through sheer will, letting the image of the hawk on Natasha's skin burn into his retinas as the other guy started to stir.

It was just a matter of time, and the Hulk grinned fiercely as he waited.


	10. Chapter 10

_Part 9 of the _"Off the Grid"_ Series_

_Rated T_

_Next to last one, I think._

Clint shifted and held his bow at his side, trying to ease the pull of this stitches. Ten days really wasn't enough time to heal, but hell would freeze over before he sat this one out. Somewhere in the mountain compound, Bruce and Natasha were undercover, trying to learn as much as they could about this new threat; Clint had to beg, borrow and steal his way this far on the mission because Fury and Cap both wanted him to stay at the safe house in New York; he'd be damned, though, if he wasn't going to be the first person the Big Guy saw after he smashed his way out.

"Anytime now." Tony could barely sit still. In the last few days, agents had come from all around the U. S., no group big enough to draw attention, driving across country in small cars and vans then backpacking into the San Juan National Forest in Colorado through tourist routes. What a trip that had been, trapped in an RV with Tony, Steve, and Thor. Clint deserved a damn medal for not shooting Tony just for his ADHD channel surfing. And when you have a zillion satellite stations to pick from, the constant changing would have driven even Coulson insane.

"Did Widow not say that today was …. " Thor started to ask the same question for the fourth time when an explosion rocked one of the buildings, followed closely by a familiar roar.

"I'd say that was the signal," Clint said, already notching an arrow, breaking cover for his chosen vantage point before Cap could order him to stop. Tony grinned and activated the Mark 7 bracelet as Cap and Thor charged forward. It didn't matter if they could track them now because they'd already knew where the Avengers were – bashing down their door. S.H.I.E.L.D. agents came from all quarters and rushed the buildings. Despite his assigned job of backup cover (_don't open those damn stitches or we'll leave you where you fall, Tony had warned_), Clint sighted the main guard posts and took them out one after another, finally able to do something even if it hurt. When the Hulk burst out of a building … literally through the concrete block wall … Clint drew a bead on the helicopter warming up for takeoff on the landing pad; his arrow buzzed over the Hulk's shoulder and punctured the gas tank. Jerking around, his brown eyes tracking back, the Hulk located him, and Clint gave a half-smile little smirk and wink before his attention was drawn to a skirmish around Steve.

The fight was anti-climactic, over quickly except for the cleanup. The facility was fairly small, mostly laboratories and scientists. Clint gingerly climbed off the roof, back aching, and was limping towards Steve when the Hulk pounded to a stop less than a foot away, Natasha running to keep up and Steve holding up a hand in warning. Clint simply stood his ground as the big green hands reached for him and gently stroked down his face and arm.

"Cupid okay?" The green giant surveyed Clint's body.

"All good," he answered. "Nat told you I was fine."

"Don't trust Red," Hulk grumbled, hands lightly on Clint's shoulders. Natasha rolled her eyes behind him. "People lie."

"Well, I'm fine." Clint held out his arms to show him. "You okay, Big Guy?"

"Trapped. Couldn't smash." He kept touching Clint, and everyone pretended not to watch. Well, Tony did have Jarvis taping it for blackmail later.

"Monica unleashed a computer virus, but Bruce managed to stop it in time," Nat said. Of everyone, she was enjoying the show the most. "We need as much data intact as possible. Bruce insisted he not to destroy everything."

"Good job, Jade Jaws," Clint patted the massive arm as a wave of light-headedness washed over him.

Hulk bent and sniffed Clint's neck. "Cupid sit down." He scooped Clint up at the knees, careful of his back. "Need rest." Tony didn't even bother to stifle his laughter at the sight of the Hulk cradling Clint to his chest, but then he noticed that Clint had passed out cold.

"We need a medic here!"

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Clint towel-dried his hair as he headed into the bedroom, clad only in sweatpants, bare feet padding across the carpet. Despite the pain along his sutures, he was glad to be back in the familiar surroundings of Stark Tower; with the information they'd gained in the raid on the compound, Tony and others were working fast on creating countermeasures for the tracking programs. Happy to leave that to the scientists, Clint was more interested in learning about the group's motives in order to predict their next moves.

Bruce sat propped up on the bed, feet tucked under the covers, a notebook tablet in one hand, vid screen within reach on the bedside table. He looked up, peering over the edge of his glasses, as Clint paused. "Your meds are on the table. The doctor sent them up."

"Tony let you out of the lab?" Clint ignored the pills and tossed his towel back into the bathroom. "I figured you two would have your heads together for days over all that data and new tech." Which didn't mean that Clint's heart wasn't doing a little jig in his chest because Bruce was there.

"Small and portable," Bruce waved the notebook. "It's just as easy for me to read here as being in the lab." He eyed Clint. "Take them. I'll be here when you wake up."

So he took the damn meds and climbed onto the bed, lying on his stomach as he curled up next to the furnace that was Bruce's body. Snuggling his face into the crook of Bruce's neck, Clint got comfortable, hand across Bruce's waist and foot hooked around Bruce's ankle. Threading his arm under Clint, Bruce balanced his notebook on the band of the sweatpants, avoiding the bandaged area.

"So, what are you working on?" Clint watched Bruce's hands on the lscreen, his fingers manipulating the images.

"Oscillating frequency matrices. The tracking program was based on energy signatures …" Bruce began. Clint tuned out the words, listening instead to rise and fall of Bruce's voice, relaxing as he waited for the pain medication to kick in. He hadn't truly slept well in weeks, and his breathing evened out as warmth started to seep back into the places worry had frozen.

"Are you listening?" Bruce asked.

"Not really," he admitted. "I just like hearing your voice. It means you're here, and you're okay. You are okay, right? No after effects from those drugs?"

"Too early to tell, but we have the samples Natasha stole before Monica destroyed the rest. And I know the delivery system issues that caused the problems, so we can postulate any possible outcomes. Aside from the other guy's frustration level at being caged, I think everything is fine."

"How did that feel? No Hulk?" Clint watched Bruce's face as he answered.

"Honestly, I don't know. I thought I wanted to be rid of him, but then, I really needed him, and he wasn't there." Bruce put the notebook down on the bed. "He could have broken out of there at any time, but me? I was next to useless."

Clint lifted up on his elbow, wincing slightly as his back arched. "You are not useless, doc. You figured out how to deactivate the computer virus Rapaccinni set off before she fled. Look at all the info we have because you played along with her. The Big Guy would have smashed out, and we wouldn't know much more than we did before."

"And what did we get for it? Bits and pieces of projects, nothing complete. If we didn't have those samples and find that one tracking device, we'd have very little to work with. Even the scientists we captured know next to nothing about the bigger organization."

Clint let his hand slide into the unbuttoned opening of Bruce's shirt, resting it over his heart. "That's the way I'd do. Small bases, keep everyone in the dark, give them one piece to work on. Easier to lie to the underlings, harder for us to follow the trail."

"Some of them thought they were working on life-changing projects, saving the world," Bruce mused as his hand trailed up Clint's side. "Just like we talked about in college. Monica sold them a dream."

"So, the two of you?" Clint only half-teased. They'd never talked about their pasts, and Clint sure as hell didn't want to open that can of worms, but he was worried Bruce was taking this personally.

"Oh, hell, no." Bruce laughed. "She's not my type. I did have a nice little fling with the bartender at the local pub. He was a swimmer. Nice ass," He squeezed Clint's and smiled. "He made it to the Olympics, but didn't medal, if I remember right. Why? You jealous?"

"Nah, just wanted you to smile." Clint leaned over as Bruce tilted his head down, and he brushed his lips lightly at first, then deeper, letting the kiss speak volumes. The lethargy threatened to drag him down, and he broke off to yawn, fading.

Bruce nuzzled Clint's hair. "You gave us a scare you know. Me and the other guy. Don't do that again," he said quietly.

"Can't promise that, doc. It's the damn job." Clint mumbled sleepily. "Meds are working though." His eyes drifted closed, and he laid his head on Bruce's shoulder.

"I know," Bruce said as Clint wiggled a little then settled down to sleep. "All too well." He turned the page on the notebook and kept studying the documents of Advanced Idea Mechanics, knowing that A.I.M. wouldn't stop trying to destroy them all. And he didn't move even after his arm had fallen asleep under Clint's weight.


	11. Chapter 11

He hated milk runs, no matter how important the data might be. As long as you're there, Tony said, just stop by the terrace and see why the monitoring device wasn't working. Plug it back in or jiggle some wires. Right. Clint knew these new machines were integral to scrambling A.I.M.'s tracking abilities, but, still, just because he was the only one available didn't mean he could do any more than give the damn thing a swift kick.

The penthouse was posh; Stark Industries owned places around town, and Clint suspected Tony used them as love nests for his various conquests. This one was especially pricey: updated kitchen, large terrace, taller than the buildings around it for privacy, and a view of the Statue of Liberty. It reeked of corporate condo: white carpet, tastefully minimal furniture, data ports in every room. And then there was the table set with white linen, a chilled bottle of wine, and Bruce Banner standing outside, wearing brown linen pants and a purple shirt.

"Well, doc, you could have called," Clint drawled from the doorway.

"Between our work schedules, we almost have to make an appointment, but where's the fun in that?" He held out a glass to Clint who crossed the space to take it.

"Why the monitor subterfuge?" He took a sip of the white wine; it was dry and oaky, his favorite.

"Because if I asked you to meet me on a rooftop wearing your uniform, you'd know what I had planned," he smiled. "I thought you'd enjoy being surprised."

It hit him then, hard enough to make him suck in a breath as his cock jumped to attention. "I like surprises, and I like the new shirt even more," he said, reaching out a hand to brush the cotton with his fingers.

"I got you one too, and some black leather pants. Tony helped pick them out," Bruce grinned as Clint groaned.

"Oh, good lord, I'll never hear the end of it. You know how he is." Clint shook his head, already imagining the snarky comments.

"But he has good taste in clothes," he said. "And speaking of clothes," he pulled at Clint's belt, bringing him closer, "we both have entirely too much on for what I have planned."

"The shirt stays," Clint argued.

"Then you wear what I tell you," Bruce agreed. "Much as I love way those pants hug your ass, I think we can lose them. In fact, why don't you just take them off now?" He stepped back and picked up his glass, waiting.

"Oh, feeling bossy today, are you?" Handing his drink off to Bruce, Clint unzipped his vest and let it slide down his arms.

"My fantasy. My rules." Bruce lifted his glass in a toast. Clint continued to take off his uniform; he pulled the shirt over his head as Bruce watched. It took time to remove his boots and weapons, but then Bruce's eyes got darker as Clint's fingers worked the buckles of his thigh holster. When he finally stepped out of his pants, his cock jutting forward, Bruce looked him up and down, as if examining a math equation before he drained his drink and sat down the empty glass.

"Not quite ready yet." Bruce picked up Clint's vest from where he'd left it on a chair and tossed it to him. "I think you'll need this." He slipped his arms back in and, when Bruce nodded, zipped it up. "And this is just for me." Bruce picked up his holster and bent down on one knee, threaded first one, then the second leather strap around Clint's thigh, buckling each, letting his fingers drag across the sensitive inner skin as Clint sighed. "It will look really good from the back," Bruce said as he rose back up and pulled Clint into a take-no-prisoners kiss, hand threaded through Clint's hair at the base of his skull, holding his head still as Bruce's tongue plundered deep into Clint's mouth. The kiss was demanding and dominating, and Clint moaned as Bruce's other hand kneaded his ass, pulling their hips together, rubbing Clint's naked cock against Bruce's fabric covered one.

"God, Bruce," Clint managed to get out before Bruce's hand circled his erection, and he couldn't think much less form a sentence as he felt those amazing fingers drawing patterns on the shaft and circling the head. Need blossomed fast and hard, and Clint's hips moved, rubbing against Bruce's palm.

"No, sorry, I'm in charge in this afternoon diversion," Bruce said as he stepped back to the table for the tube waiting there. "And I'm afraid you're going to have to wait." He pulled a small leather strap from his pocket. "See, I can go shopping without Tony." He slicked the gel over Clint's shaft and then wrapped the strap around the base of Clint's cock, snapping it tight and snug.

"Don't let anyone tell you differently," Clint said, voice husky with desire. "You do kink with the best of them, doc. Who would have guessed?"

"Well, since you mentioned it …" Bruce led him over to a stone bench, compete with an outdoor pillow, right by the roof's edge. "We're pretty high up." He positioned himself behind him, Clint's knees brushing the edge of the bench. "Kneel on it," Bruce whispered in his ear, and Clint suddenly understood what his lover wanted. Throwing a sexy grin over his shoulder, Clint put his knees on the pillow and rested his elbows on the terrace ledge, face looking down to the street far below. "Hope no one has binoculars, or if they do, they send us a copy of the video."

"Security screen," Bruce managed to choke out as he splayed his hands on Clint's exposed ass. "Good god, Clint," he breathed. "Slow is out of the question."

"I'm glad you see things my way for … " Clint's words turned to a groan as the first slickened finger shoved past his tight muscle quickly, and he grabbed on to the concrete edge so he could push back onto Bruce's hand. His cock ached where the strap kept him in check, and it was like a river trapped behind a dam, growing with each probing advance that stretched him a little more. Then Bruce added a second finger, scissoring them, and Clint thought he was going to come apart, rocking back and forth as he invented new sounds deep in his throat, each movement an exquisite torment.

"Open your eyes," Bruce demanded and Clint obeyed, holding on tight as Bruce spread him even further with a third finger, almost painful, but so damn good he could do nothing but wiggle and writhe under the onslaught. The ground was so far away, and he felt the familiar adrenaline spike, the pull of gravity and rush of freefall he remembered so well.

"Take me over the edge, Bruce" Clint asked; there was a moment of emptiness and then Bruce's cock was there, in one solid thrust that forced a cry out of Clint's mouth and made him jerk forward. But Bruce's hands on Clint's hips anchored him, and he was ready for the next thrust, digging his knees into the pillow and pushing backwards with equal force, bodies colliding. Rewarded with Bruce's curse, Clint fucked himself back onto Bruce, meeting him each time until he wasn't sure if he was going to fly off the roof or fly apart from the inside out, split into pieces by the pressure building inside of him. The concrete scraped skin from his elbows, and he knew he would be sore in the morning, but when Bruce groaned and came, pumping inside of him, Clint didn't give a damn about anything but hearing the sounds of pleasure Bruce made. Only when Bruce pulled out of him did Clint realize his arms were shaking from the tension of his muscles, and Bruce had to help him stand back up, his aching penis still engorged and purple.

"You okay?" Bruce asked, turning Clint to face him and stroking his face.

"God yes." Clint groaned as the tail of Bruce's shirt brushed across the head of his cock.

"Do you trust me?" Bruce's face was suddenly serious, and even in the haze of need, Clint realized the question was about more than just the sex.

"Completely," he answered without hesitation, hands grabbing the open lapels of the purple shirt.

"Then make sure you hold on." Bruce's voice was almost a growl, and his eyes turned green as he backed Clint up and urged him down on the bench, bending him backwards until he was balanced on his lower back on the wall, head hanging over the side of the building. "Wrap your legs around me," Bruce ordered.

"Seriously, you can't be ready …" Bruce slammed into Clint, invasion eased a little because both of them were wet from before, but Bruce's size and speed still filled him to bursting. Clint cursed and moaned his pleasure as he was pushed forward, ass bumping the concrete edge. He grabbed onto Bruce's shoulders, twining his fingers behind Bruce's neck for leverage.

"Amazing recuperative powers," Bruce told him. "And the other guy likes it when you hold on." Clint couldn't answer because Bruce's hand slipped the leather strap off of his cock and started to stroke him, spreading the liquid leaking from his head along the shaft. His release crashed over him in seconds; the pull of Bruce's fingers on his cock as he continued to fuck him almost over the edge again and again was so powerful Clint couldn't tell if he was holding on or falling to the street below. He came, long and hard, growls of his own matching the guttural sounds Bruce was making. When he could think again, Clint whispered encouragement in Bruce's ear, dirty suggestions of what he was going to do when it was his turn to pick the fantasy, until Bruce's second climax rocked them both with its violence; then he could only hold on and ride it out, arms tight around Bruce's chest, fingers anchored in the purple fabric.

His ass was cold, and he realized his was sitting on the edge, supported by Bruce's hands braced on the ledge on either side of them; Bruce was kneeling on the bench breathing heavily. Pulling them back in, he cradled Clint to his body as tremors ran through them both.

"Cupid okay?" Bruce whispered into Clint's ear.

Clint's eyes shot to Bruce's, but there was nothing but concern and a mischievous sparkle. "More than okay, Big Guy."

"Your elbows are scraped up again." He turned one of Clint's arms to look; speckles of blood dotted the purple shirt from where Clint had clung to him. "There's probably something in that massive bathroom we can use to patch you up. I'm sorry about that."

"Don't. Just don't. There are no fucking apologies after mind-blowing sex. Let's make that rule number one." Clint gave a little groan as he stood up. "I may not sit for a day or two, but, damn, okay? You've thrown down the gauntlet now. I've got to come up with something pretty spectacular to top this." Looking at Bruce, he almost laughed; Bruce's shirt was only partially unbuttoned, and his pants were still hooked around his right ankle, underwear and all. "We're both mess."

"No need to rush," Bruce said as he kicked the pants and underwear off. "You're logged in as on assignment until tomorrow morning, and I'm supposedly in the lab working on a special project. Steve took care of it."

"A whole evening and night? I do believe I owe Cap a big kiss from both of us. Hmmmm, Steve does have a mighty fine …"

"Don't even go there," Bruce warned. "The other guy gets a tad bit jealous."

"Just kidding, doc," Clint touched him lightly on the cheek. "You're more than enough." After a quick kiss, he headed inside. "Now, what shall we do with ourselves for 18 hours?"

"There's a great Vietnamese place down the street Tony raves about," Bruce followed him in, scooping up the bottle of wine and handing the glasses to Clint who juggled them along with his clothes. "You should see the shower feature this place has …."

_Clint pushed back the 1000-count Egyptian cotton sheets on the California king bed, the warmth of Bruce's body curled up against his back enough for the balmy evening, even with the terrace doors open, breeze wafting across the room. Empty wine bottles and take-out cartons sat on the small table, but the wet towels were hanging neatly by the rainmaker shower and the gigantic whirlpool bath, both of which had gone a long way to easing their aches. Bruce was very creative in thinking up ways to bend Clint into positions not-quite humanly possible. He smiled sleepily at the memory of Bruce insisting they watch one more episode of _The Walking Dead_ on Netflix until they'd seen the whole first season, especially since he'd been so resistant to Clint's pleas to watch the zombie show. The sounds of New York City drifted up in even in these wee hours of the a.m. as Bruce shifted his arm, resting his elbow on Clint's side and tucking his fingers between Clint's side and the mattress. Pushing worry aside for the moment, Clint was content and sated and tired enough to sleep the rest of the night without dreaming. There'd be time tomorrow to wonder just how he was going to screw this up. Because, make no mistake, Clint truly knew that he was just fucked up enough to blow a good thing like this._


End file.
